Comfortable
by Juju1665
Summary: Because at the end of the day, he was comfortable with Bruce even though Bruce would never be comfortable with anything. One shot. Superman/Batman slash.


There was a distinct lack of comfort in everything that Bruce did, said, and thought. Clark didn't think that the darker man would ever be fully comfortable with anything or anyone. Not even when they were in bed and the detective was sleeping soundly, blankets pulled up nearly over his head, and limbs going every which way in an attempt to take up as much room as possible. Even in his sleep he was difficult.

But Clark didn't mind. He just rolled over and tried to avoid being punched. He had unpleasantly discovered that if you attempted to suddenly move one of Bruce's scarred limbs in his sleep, you ran the risk of being attacked. And while the man's sleep riddled instincts couldn't really hurt him, he still didn't want to live through it again. It was rather unpleasant.

When morning did come, Clark was always the first one awake. He would leave the king sized bed and pad across the plush carpet to the bathroom to take a shower and prepare for whatever his day might throw at him. He would be done with a quick shower, dressing, and breakfast and still Bruce would be dead to the world. The reporter would leave for work by eight, be at his desk ten minutes later, and be working for hours and still Bruce would be asleep. In fact, the billionaire wouldn't be awake until noon at the earliest. The drawbacks of being the Batman.

At three or so he would receive a text message with some sort of complaint or an order thinly veiled as a request. The subject of these text messages varied considerably from something to do with Bruce's kids, to Gotham, to dinner, or an article in the Gotham Gazette that he wanted him to see. It was Bruce's idea of small talk since he was incapable of doing it in person.

But the silence, the secrets, and the bipolar attitudes didn't do anything to Clark.

Because at the end of the day, _he_ was comfortable with Bruce even though Bruce would never be comfortable with anything.

By the time that Superman was done with his duties it would usually be pushing one in the morning and he would either make his way back to his own apartment in Metropolis or, as he often did these days, he would head back to Wayne Manor. He would fly through the door of the balcony, shower, slip on his favorite Smallville High sweatpants and collapse into bed. It would take only moments for him to fall asleep.

He wouldn't wake up until he felt the mattress dip next to him as Bruce finally called it a night himself. The alien would wrap his arms around the equally exhausted billionaire and for awhile it would seem as if Bruce was finally comfortable. But fifteen minutes later, the human would wiggle out of the embrace and take up his usual sleep position.

But sometimes, if he was lucky enough, he would get some sex in the morning.

Bruce was difficult to be with. He would put everything second to his work as the Batman and anyone who didn't understand the man's priorities would ultimately end up hurt. But Clark understood the other man better than anyone. He knew how to make him smile-a real smile and not just a fake smirk. He knew how to actually get the man to cuddle. Hell, he knew how to make the man take a vacation. That in and of itself was a miracle.

"Clark?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you feeling better?"

Superman had been put through the ringer the day before. It wasn't very often that he was in a fight with someone strong enough to kill him but when it did happen it always caught him slightly off guard. He managed to fly away from the battlefield and barely managed to make it to Wayne Manor before collapsing onto the Manor grounds.

He'd woken up several hours later in the cold cave being stitched up by Alfred and Tim. His powers were so depleted they had no trouble running their needles through his skin. He didn't much care for the feeling.

"Relax," Tim had said, placing a hand on his bare shoulder. "You're not used to this so it might hurt a little."

He had passed out again after that.

And then woke up in bed, once again next to Bruce. He was sleeping as he always did and Clark wondered if there was anything that could truly phase the man other than a soul sucking tragedy. Bruce didn't seem to feel relief. Sometimes Clark wasn't sure if he even felt true happiness.

By morning, he was feeling better. And he answered as such.

"Yes. I should be all healed by tomorrow."

And the next thing he knew Bruce had an arm draped lightly but possessively across his waist. Bruce rubbed his thumb along his hipbone and the rhythmic beating of the man's heart against his arm soon lulled him back to sleep. They had a rare day in bed.

Clark would drift in and out of sleep, watching movies in between naps. Bruce spent the day on his laptop jumping back and forth between Wayne Industries memos and files from the Batman's database. Clark had no idea what he was working on, if anything. Sometimes the Detective would simply go through old files to make sure he knew everything about everything. It was annoying.

Despite the events that had brought about this day, Clark was nonetheless glad it had occurred. It was just so...comfortable.


End file.
